Adriana sniffed. “I’m just so sick of being afraid, you know?”
He bowed his head. She was strong, and he had faith that she would make it through this—that she had a bright, thriving future ahead of her. But in this moment, there was nothing he could say to make her feel better.
She took a few shaky breaths, scrubbing at her nose and mouth.
“There’s napkins in the glove compartment,” he said, knowing she wouldn’t want him to reach into her personal space.
After she retrieved the napkins and blew her nose, she said, “I had no idea the Seven of Spades would use our conversations to trick you, or hurt you. I would never have spoken to them if I had.”
“I know. And everything worked out fine. You don’t have to worry about it.”
“I won’t talk to them again.” She bit her lip, wadding the napkins in her fist. “Although I guess they already got what they wanted from me. They won’t call me anymore, will they?”
“Probably not.”
Sighing, she stuffed the napkins into a side pocket of her backpack. “Are you gonna tell anyone?”
“No.” He rested his hand on the space between their seats, close enough to get her attention but not close enough to touch her. “I meant what I said earlier—this has to stay a secret. I’m sorry that I can’t explain why, but it’s really important that you never tell anyone else about this. In fact, I think you should delete those calls from your phone.”
Though clearly taken aback, she picked up her phone and began doing just that without argument. Reassured that she wasn’t on the edge of a breakdown, Levi rejoined the flow of traffic on the highway.
“Do you want to forget about Krav today?” he asked after a few minutes of driving in silence. “We could go see a movie or something instead.”
“Sure, sounds good.” A few seconds later, and in a much smaller voice, she said, “Are you mad at me?”
“No.” He spoke firmly, so she would have no reason to doubt his conviction. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m mad at the Seven of Spades.”
Adriana slumped in her seat, looking much older than her sixteen years. “Me too.”
With McBride’s blessing, Dominic had taken the entire week off work to get his shit together—her words, not his. He’d been going to Gamblers Anonymous meetings every day, sometimes two or three, and had accepted an old acquaintance’s offer to sponsor him. Natasha had also referred him to a clinical social worker who specialized in gambling disorders, and he’d made an appointment for next week.
Five days in, he was still gambling-free, but the cravings were even worse than the last time he’d gone through this and the withdrawal was a bitch. His mood swung rapidly between extremes; his stomach roiled with a constant low-grade nausea. He’d had the same nagging headache since Monday night.
He might have fallen off the wagon, if not for the fact that Levi was temporarily staying at his place. Due to Levi’s suspension, the two of them had been able to spend most of the week together, reconnecting and repairing their relationship. It didn’t hurt that nobody had ever been quite so good as Levi at distracting him from his gambling urges.
On Friday, Dominic was planning to be at the substation during Levi’s IA hearing—not just for emotional support, but to run interference if things went south. That wasn’t until late afternoon, though, and Levi had taken off to nurse his anxiety in private under the thin pretext of running errands, which left Dominic with dangerous free time to fill.
Exercise had been one of the greatest aids to his recovery the first time around, so he sought refuge in it now. He hit the gym with Carlos for a full-body superset circuit, then picked up Rebel and took her on their regular five-mile run through the UNLV campus. Back at home, he emerged from the shower sore and in a better frame of mind, but once again at loose ends.
As he wandered around the kitchen, looking for anything to take his mind off his growing cravings, his eyes fell on a business card secured to the refrigerator. The very first thing he’d done on Tuesday was sit down with a credit counselor at a nonprofit debt management company to sign up for a debt management plan. That entailed turning over all his credit card and personal loan debt to the DMP; he would make regular payments to the company, who would in turn distribute the funds to his various creditors and help keep them off his back.
Doing so had meant closing out all his credit cards, which was something he should have done years ago. He’d also destroyed his debit card and all his personal checks. Now, if he wanted money, he had to physically go to the bank to withdraw it in cash.
His credit counselor, Sandra Delaney, had said she’d contact him within a couple of days to discuss the possibility of negotiating lower fees and interest rates with his creditors, but he still hadn’t heard from her. It wouldn’t hurt to take the initiative.
He grabbed the card off the fridge and dialed his cell while he ambled into the living room. Delaney answered after a few rings.
“Hi, this is Dominic Russo. I’m calling about setting a follow-up appointment?”
There was a brief silence on her end. “I’m sorry, an appointment for what?”
“You mentioned there was a chance of convincing some of my creditors to lower their rates now that I’m on a DMP.”
“Well, yes, but since the debt’s been paid off, it’s kind of a moot point.”
Dominic froze mid-stride. “Since the debt’s been what?”
“The payment you sent yesterday zeroed out your balance,” she said. “The account’s been closed.”
He sat down hard on the couch. Rebel lifted her head from the rawhide she’d been gnawing on and pricked her ears.
“I didn’t do that,” he said faintly. “There must be some mistake.”
After a burst of rapid typing, Delaney hummed her disagreement. “I’m looking at your account history right now. Payment was made in full yesterday.”
He cradled his head in one hand, unable to even process what she was saying. He’d owed more than a hundred grand, and that debt had just been . . . wiped out? How was that possible?
His unavoidable first thought was that the Seven of Spades had done it. But they were furious with him now; if anything, they were in the midst of planning their revenge.
“Where did the payment come from?” he asked.
“I can’t be sure. It was made by cashier’s check from Wells Fargo. I just assumed that you or a family member had sent it in.”
Nobody in Dominic’s family could come close to affording such a large lump sum.
There was only one person he knew who could.
“Mr. Russo?” said Bridget, the no-nonsense woman who guarded Stanton Barclay’s inner sanctum like Cerberus. “Mr. Barclay will see you now.”
She escorted Dominic into a corner office larger than his apartment, with two enormous glass walls overlooking the glittering, frenetic energy of the Strip and the city beyond. Barclay met him halfway and shook his hand.
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” Dominic said.
“Of course.”
Levi, who’d visited Barclay a few times over the past week, had updated Dominic on his steady recovery. Barclay did look much better than he had on Sunday, returned to his handsome, debonair self—but Dominic noticed the slight hunch to his shoulders, how his gaze constantly scanned the room, his pronounced flinch when Bridget shut the door. The trauma of his kidnapping had scarred him in ways more subtle than his missing eye.
Instead of bringing Dominic to the desk, Barclay showed him to a cozy seating arrangement of leather couches clustered around a glass-topped coffee table. “How are you feeling?” Dominic asked as they settled in.
Barclay was wearing a black patch over his left eye, beneath which the white edges of bandaging were visible. “As well as can be expected, given the circumstances.” He brushed his fingertips beneath the eye. “They put an ocular implant in, but it’ll be a few months before I can get the prosthesis itself.”
“
Honestly, I think you could rock the whole eye patch look. It’s working for you.”
Barclay chuckled. “What can I do for you, Mr. Russo?”
Taking a page from Levi’s book, Dominic chose blunt honesty over tact. “You paid off all my debt.”
“That doesn’t sound like a question.”
“It wasn’t,” Dominic said with a shrug. “There’s nobody else it could have been. Except maybe the Seven of Spades, but they're not too thrilled with me right now.”
Casting him a wary glance, Barclay said, “Are you here to insist I take the money back? Because that’s not possible—”
“Shit, no.” Dominic raised his hands. “I have pride, but I’m not an idiot.”
“Then why are you here?” Barclay asked, his tone one of polite bewilderment.
Dominic leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “If you were anyone else, I’d think you’d done it to try to win Levi back. But you know him too well to think that would work.”
A wistful smile crossed Barclay’s face. “True. Money has never been the key to Levi’s heart.”
“So why do it?”
“Isn’t gratitude reason enough? After all, you saved my life—and more importantly, you protected Levi’s. If it weren’t for the two of you, I’d likely be dead right now.”
Dominic tilted his head, not buying it. There were plenty of ways Barclay could have thanked him that didn’t involve dropping a hundred grand—anonymously, no less.
As if sensing Dominic’s disbelief, Barclay cleared his throat and smoothed out a crease in his trousers. “I’m still in love with Levi.”
“I know,” Dominic said softly.
“When you love someone—truly love them—their happiness is the most important thing in the world to you, even more than your own. When you two were together, Levi was happier than he’d ever been with me. When you separated, he was devastated in a way I’d never seen. And now that you’re back together . . .” Barclay’s lips quirked. “Well, he’s careful about what he says in front of me, but I can tell he’s overjoyed. You’re the one he wants. I respect that.”
“But?”
“But debt like yours is toxic. Even if you never relapsed again for your entire life, you would have drowned in it. It would have poisoned your relationship, and Levi deserves better than that. He deserves a chance at a real future without his partner’s debt dragging him down.” Sighing, Barclay made a helpless gesture with both hands. “That’s the only thing I can give him, so it’s what I did.”
Dominic straightened up, floored by this revelation. To acknowledge that the person you loved was in love with someone else and concede gracefully was one thing, but to deliberately aid that relationship to ensure the person’s happiness at the expense of your own? He couldn’t imagine what it had cost Barclay emotionally to make such a sacrifice.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I know you did this for Levi, but you have no idea what a difference it makes for me—how entirely you’ve changed my life. I want you to know that I’m dedicated to him and my recovery. I won’t disrespect the gift you’ve given me. Us.”
“That’s all I ask.” Barclay hesitated. “Although . . . I suppose there’s no point in asking you not to tell him what I did?”
“No, I’m sorry. Even if I hadn’t promised not to lie to him anymore, I wouldn’t be able to hide this from him. As soon as he found out my debt had been cleared, he’d realize it was you as quickly as I did.” Studying Barclay more closely, Dominic added, “I can tell him you’d rather not speak to him about it, though.”
“Thanks,” Barclay said, his voice ringing with relief.
Not wanting to overstay his welcome, Dominic rose to his feet. Barclay followed suit, and they shook hands once more.
“Be good to him, Mr. Russo.”
Dominic nodded, thanked Barclay again, and left the office, each step lighter than the one before.
He’d lived under crushing debt for so long that the reality of being debt-free had yet to fully sink in. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said Barclay had changed his life forever, though. While it would take years for his credit to recover, he’d been given as close to a fresh start as possible. The mistakes of his past still weighed on his shoulders, but they no longer breathed so hotly down his neck.
Heartened by the bright, pure hope dawning in his chest, Dominic set off for Levi’s substation.
“You’re early,” Martine said as Levi entered the crowded bullpen.
“I wanted to check in first.” He’d also run out of things to do to distract himself from his impending hearing, but he didn’t want to admit that.
His desk was clean and bare of everything but his computer, unused in his absence. He sat down, ignoring the many stares and whispers directed his way. Who cared what these people thought? He wasn’t going to let their petty gossip get under his skin.
The fact that he had to wear a visitor’s badge in his own substation was grating, though.
Martine frowned. “You know I can’t share details of ongoing investigations with a suspended officer.”
“Oh.” Of course. Hadn’t he had that same thought after he’d been removed from the Seven of Spades task force, not wanting to get her in trouble? Flustered, he half stood. “Sorry—”
“I’m joking!” She waved for him to sit down. “Come on, you know I don’t give a shit about that.”
He snorted and sank back into his chair. “Funny.”
This wasn’t the first time they’d spoken this week. They’d been texting back and forth as usual, and they’d met on Wednesday for a long, private lunch, during which he’d told her the unabridged truth about Stanton’s rescue—though nothing about the events of the following morning. But during all their conversations, they’d avoided talking about work, sticking to personal topics instead.
“The Buckner homicide and its associated kidnappings, assaults, and mutilations have been mostly wrapped up.” Martine pulled a thick folder from a stack on her desk and flipped it open. “All of the kidnappers you and Dominic tracked down are being held without bail at the CCDC, as is Charles Graham now that he’s been discharged from the hospital. We don’t know which one of them actually killed Buckner and they’re not talking, but because his death occurred during the commission of a kidnapping in which they were all involved, Leila charged them all with felony murder.”
Levi nodded. Considering the slew of serious charges they were facing and the weight of the evidence against them, it would take a miracle for any of those men to escape life in prison.
“Nathan Royce was released from jail with all charges dropped.”
A small mercy, since the man’s entire life had imploded around him. “Juliette?” Levi asked.
“Charged with multiple counts of conspiracy, but she bargained for a lighter sentence by pleading guilty and agreeing to provide testimony against Carolyn Royce.”
“But Carolyn’s still missing, isn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Martine said, flicking the folder shut. “We thought we had her for a couple of days, but her trail went cold in a small coastal town in California. There’s a good chance she made it out of the country undetected. In any case, we turned the manhunt over to the FBI, so it’s out of our hands.”
Levi drummed his fingers against the desk. He hated dangling threads in an investigation, though they were an unavoidable reality of law enforcement.
“What’s really getting to me is that nobody’s heard from the Seven of Spades in almost a week.”
Levi tensed, his fingers going still.
“I mean, they still have Scott West.” Martine rubbed the back of her neck. “After all the drama they created with the first three guys, I figured they were building to some huge finale performance. But just . . . nothing? No word at all? Doesn’t that seem bizarre?”
“They’re a serial killer. Everything they do is bizarre.”
“I meant out of character.”
“I
guess. Who knows what goes on in that freak’s head?” Levi darted a glance at Martine to find her regarding him with bemusement. Nothing was more out of character than him brushing off worries about the Seven of Spades.
He squashed his guilt at keeping her in the dark. If it had been his secret alone, he would have told her, but he’d carry the truth of Dominic’s actions to the grave.
Fortunately, they were interrupted by the arrival of Terence Freeman as he strolled up to their adjoining desks. “Abrams. We need to get started without Montoya; she got held up on another case.”
“Fine,” said Levi, though he was rattled by the news. He considered Montoya an ally—albeit a discreet one—and he didn’t like the idea of proceeding without her. Checking the time on his phone, he frowned. “Sawyer must be running late.”
“Well, find out where he is. I have dinner plans.”
Levi was texting Sawyer when the whispering in the bullpen—which had died down while he’d been talking to Martine—started up again even more blatantly than before. He lifted his head to see Dominic coming his way.
Although most of these people hadn’t been present the night Levi had outed Dominic’s addiction, word had definitely spread by now. Everyone here knew Dominic was a compulsive gambler, something that would eat at him even as he pasted on a charming smile and pretended it was no big deal.
Except there was nothing forced about the smile on Dominic’s face. He was glowing, walking with a bounce in his step, brimming over with giddy energy.
Dropping his phone forgotten on his desk, Levi stood to meet him. “I thought you weren’t coming until later.”
“I had an appointment on the Strip, and it didn’t make sense to go home just to come all the way back here.” Dominic greeted Martine and Freeman as well, then added, “You haven’t started yet?”
“We’re still waiting for Sawyer.”
“Good. I need to tell you something.”
Dominic took Levi’s hand and pulled him aside. Intrigued, Levi followed without resistance. Whatever it was must be good news; Dominic was acting like Rebel when she was about to get chicken.
One-Eyed Royals Page 30
